


Incandesence

by TreacleTart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Gen, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, weasley's wildfire whizbangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTart/pseuds/TreacleTart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy Weasley hasn't enjoyed fireworks in five years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incandesence

  
Beautiful Banner by Enigma @TDA!

Weasley’s Wildfire Whizbangs flashed across the sky in bright red and green bursts. Dragons spewed brilliant eruptions of orange and yellow flames. Silver streamers shot through the night sky, leaving trails of sparkling dust behind them. Intermingled with the beautiful display was the occasional burst of words like Poo or Flibbertygibbit in vivid purple colors.

The crowd oohed and ahhhed as the firework dragons dipped low, dragging their tails just above the tallest heads in the crowd. Several of the children ducked behind their parents, shrieking in mock fear as it flew above them. Magnificent pink and blue Catherine Wheels decorated the sky in its wake, spinning rapidly and then exploding into rainbows of colors.

The entirety of the Weasley family and many of their friends sat just at the edge of the lot that the Burrow was located on. Blankets were sprawled across the grass for people to view the show from and every single one of them was full with several bodies. A few feet away, the picnic table sat, laden with platters containing the remnants of Molly’s fabulous cooking.

George sat at the edge of the crowd, leaning up against his wife Angelina and holding his son Fred in his lap. He whipped his wand like a maestro leading the orchestra, causing the fireworks to shower sparkling strands of color around the crowd. His son laughed and shouted as the lights exploded above him. His genuine happiness at them was all the encouragement George needed, creating more and more extravagant sequences to please his child.

The only person who wasn’t sitting in the grass enjoying the show was Percy. Instead, he was locked away in his childhood room, trying desperately to concentrate on the mountain of paperwork laid out on the desk before him. The speed and intensity with which he was writing was leaving blotches of ink and tearing holes into the parchment. He kept fixing them and tidying up his mess, but nothing he did seemed to make it look right. It was sloppy and not even close to his usual standard.

Percy was just pausing to clean up another inky spot when a particularly loud firework exploded just outside of his window. Shooting out of his chair in panic, he sent the ink pot toppling to the floor where it shattered, spraying splotches of midnight black all over the floor and desk.

“Bloody fireworks,” he grumbled, his chest heaving. As his breathing slowed and he began to catch his breath, Percy picked up his wand and promptly vanished the mess.

Pausing for a moment, he decided to glance outside at his family. He had felt bad sneaking out of the party early, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of watching the sky light up in varying colors. Instead of shooting stars and dragons, he saw killing curses and jinxes. The bright colors looked too much like the ones that had peppered the sky during The Battle of Hogwarts, lighting the war torn grounds in an incandescent green glow. Instead of happy family members, the wash of eerie reds and oranges made him see dead bodies in their place and blood splattering the grass around them.

Worse was the sound. The way the sparklers and Catherine Wheels screeched through the air reminded him of children shrieking as they ran from Death Eaters. To this day, the voices of the younger students crying out for their mothers as they were attacked still haunted his dreams.

But it was the loud explosions of the fireworks bursting from their canisters that made his body lurch with fear. Every time one of them detonated, the shock shook the house from the foundations up, causing Percy to relive Fred’s final moments over and over again. Boom. He could see the wall exploding. Boom. Fred was falling. Boom. He was grabbing at him, trying to save him. Boom. His world flipped upside down.

As the fireworks continued to explode outside, Percy began to break down. Flashes of bright red hair sticking out from under a pile of rubble tormented him, refusing to grant him a reprieve. Leaning against the wall, he allowed himself to slide to the floor. Tucking himself into the corner between the wall and the end of the bed, like he’d done as a child when he was scared, Percy drew his knees to his chest.

“It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon,” he muttered repeatedly, hoping that his words held some truth.

The fireworks reached a crescendo outside as George began the finale. The constant detonations, one after another after another, left Percy shaking. He was fighting back tears and the urge to vomit as bile welled up in his throat. Another few minutes and he knew he’d be in full blown panic, but he couldn’t find the strength to move or do anything to prevent it. The dreadful noise of the walls shaking kept him frozen in place.

He couldn’t remember when the noise finally stopped, but by the time it did, Percy’s eyes were puffy and his cheeks were a brilliant shade of red. “I’m so sorry, Fred,” he mumbled under his breath, like a mantra. “I should’ve saved you. It should’ve been me. No one would’ve missed me.”

Exhaustion overtook him as his panic subsided. Using all the strength left in his body, Percy hauled himself off of the floor and dragged himself to his desk. Fumbling through the drawers, he found a small vial of dreamless sleep potion. He took a deep breath as he popped the cork on it and then downed its content in one gulp.

A sense of ease spread through his body and Percy could feel his muscles releasing. Stripping off his robes, he moved towards the bed and flung himself down on top of the covers. Within seconds sleep overtook him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> This story was originally posted on HPFF for the Guilty Pleasures Challenge. I know this will probably sound odd, but my guilty pleasure is exploring the effects of war on different characters. This story belongs to an entire universe of stories, which I’ve labeled The After Effects Verse. 
> 
> Most of my experience with PTSD comes from firsthand experience with combat veterans. Many of those experiences have inspired me to write and talk about PTSD more. 
> 
> Also, on a personal note, if you suffer from PTSD or love someone who does, please know that you aren’t alone. There is no shame or weakness in speaking out and asking for help when you need it.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> ~Kaitlin/TreacleTart


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